


Specialized Training

by becka



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Sparring, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:29:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS FOR TDKR.</p><p>Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham for a visit three years after his "death". He teaches John Blake a few new tricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Specialized Training

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to L for the encouragement and the read-through, and to anon for the arbitrary deadline. <3

Bruce Wayne walks into the cave as though he still owns it, splashing a little as he passes through the water, making John wonder whether the noise is an intentional warning. John doesn't hide his surprise, though he’s not as surprised as he might be to see anyone else return from the dead. After all, Wayne has done this before.

"Looks like you've made some improvements," says Wayne, casting a glance at the new catwalks jutting above the rocks. The last two years have been wetter than usual, and John worries about Alfred slipping on the stones when he comes down to watch John work.

They've developed a rapport in the three years since Batman's death, Alfred gruffly parenting him, nudging him along like a reluctant duckling as he delves deeper into the secrets Batman left behind.

"I've been trying to make it homey," John tells him. "Are you staying in the city long?"

Wayne smiles harmlessly, but his eyes are intent on John's face. "Don't worry. I'm not here to take back my mantle. I hear Nightwing's doing a damn good job in my absence."

"Not too bad, I hope," agrees John. Their voices echo around the cave, and he takes a few steps toward the waterfall and the damp figure of Bruce Wayne. "Do you need a place to stay while you're here?"

Wayne shakes his head. "Alfred assures me his spare room in the city exists for just this occasion. But I would like to talk to you, see what you've learned."

John shoves his hands into his pockets and nods. He had forgotten the fierce intensity of Bruce Wayne's eyes. "I'm still not sure I'm what Gotham needs."

"Then maybe Gotham needs you to not be sure."

Wayne moves more slowly and carefully than John remembers, but as the days pass, he starts to realize this is partly affectation, a way to pass harmlessly by in public. "How are you doing with hand to hand combat?" Bruce asks him. "Doesn't seem like something there's much cause for in police work."

"I'm practicing where I can. I take ju-jitsu classes at the Y. But I'm not the kind of fighter you were. I don't like to get up close."

Wayne walks right up to him, invading his space. "Sometimes they won't let you choose that."

John swallows, gauging the distance between them and knowing that even if Wayne hasn't fought a crazed criminal in years, he's still likely well able to take down an ex-cop with 18 months martial arts experience. 

"You look nervous," says Wayne.

John takes a quick step sideways, out of Wayne's reach, or so he thinks. "I've got reason to be," he replies.

Somehow Wayne has grabbed his arm and twisted it behind him before John can react, pulling John up tight against his chest. His fingers squeeze bruisingly on John's forearm. "You're not wrong. So now what do you do?"

"Theoretically I smash the back of my skull into your nose and hope you're in enough pain to let go. But I think that might be rude."

Wayne chuckles, leaning in over John's shoulder to say, "I guess you don't worry about being rude to murderers and psychopaths." He releases John's arm, and John sags back into him for a moment before straightening up.

John rubs absently at his shoulder. "I never lose sleep over it."

Wayne smiles, satisfied. "Good boy."

John hasn't been a boy in a lot of years, but he accepts it as a compliment from a mentor. After all, he's still green at this superhero stuff.

"If you want someone to spar with who isn't trying to kill you," Wayne says, "let me know. I don't even mind if you're a little rude."

"Thanks, Mr. Wayne. I'd like that."

"I'd like it if you called me Bruce."

“Okay,” says John, “Bruce.” He’s thrilled at this intimacy his boyhood self could hardly have imagined. They’re partners now, in a way, the only two members of Gotham’s fraternity of masked heroes.

***

John comes home bruised and aching every night the following week, and only once is there any criminal activity involved: a gang of dim but ambitious bank robbers who make it as far as the vault at Second Gotham Savings and Loan before he can lock them inside and let the police take care of the rest. The other nights, it’s just Bruce’s extremely hands-on teaching style, new holds, new blocks, fluid ways of moving that John can’t imagine mastering.

“I don’t know how you did it for so long,” John says, leaning heavily against the cave wall and trying to get his breath back.

“I started younger,” Bruce explains. “You’ll get the hang of it yet. You just have to trust your instincts.”

***

And then there’s the night John comes home to find an intruder in his apartment, an arm snaking around his neck and starting to choke him. He doesn’t hesitate. He slams Bruce into the wall and loosens his hold before turning on the light.

"I didn't think there was going to be a test," John says, rubbing at his throat.

Bruce smiles. "That's the point of pop quizzes. Next time I might come armed."

"How'd you get in here in the first place?"

"Alfred gave me the security code and the spare key. I thought I owed you a visit."

John looks at the pile of newspapers on his coffee table and the takeout containers overflowing the trashcan. He looks down at his feet. "I'm sorry you had to see the mess. I wasn't expecting company."

"No girlfriend then?" asks Bruce.

John shakes his head. "I wouldn't want to keep secrets, but I can't tell anyone what I do. I'm sure you understand that."

Bruce nods. "It's lonely though." He looks John up and down, speculatively, and John is flustered to realize how much it turns him on, the weight of Bruce's attention.

"It can be," he agrees. "Do you want a cup of coffee? Since you're here."

"Are you going out again? I don't want to interfere."

John shakes his head. "It's quiet. It's been quiet. Things aren't like they used to be in Gotham. They don't need me like they needed you."

"We'll see," says Bruce. He takes a step closer, touches John's throat, gently and unnecessarily, thumb against his racing pulse. "You're going to bruise."

"It comes with the territory."

Bruce strokes down the length of John's neck and rests his hand against his collar. "So it does." He looks at John with that unflinching concentration John sees when they spar. It makes him shiver right down to his toes. And then Bruce’s mouth covers his.

Bruce kisses desperately, deliberately, like he's been starved for it, pushing John back toward the wall again and licking into his mouth. Their legs tangle, and John forces himself to take a deep breath as Bruce's hands tighten on his ribcage, holding their bodies together.

Bruce's hard cock presses into his thigh, and it's been years since John wanted to go to his knees so badly, but Bruce won't stop kissing him, biting and sucking at his mouth, nuzzling at his face. John shifts his hips, seeking friction, leverage to rut against the solid warmth of Bruce's thigh. Bruce groans and grabs at John's ass, lifting him against the wall, grinding and thrusting in a rhythm that makes John ache. 

He wants Bruce in him so badly. He can't help it; he breaks the kiss and slithers down the wall until he can press his face against Bruce's fly.

John mouths at him through the fabric, Bruce's hands braced on the wall, his mouth slack as he looks down. "Go on," says Bruce, a low growl like the words are pulled up from deep in his chest. John scrambles to undo his fly.

He tugs out Bruce’s dick and cups it in the palm of his hand, sliding the thick length of it through the circle of his fingers. Bruce sighs and watches him stroke it, watches John’s mouth open around the head. John doesn’t want to shut his eyes, but seeing Bruce’s focused gaze on him is throwing off his rhythm. He lets his eyes close, and every stroke takes him in a little deeper, back into John’s throat. John’s out of practice, but he needs it, a hot cock sliding into him, Bruce’s cock.

John doesn’t explain how long he’s wanted this, how many of his vague pubescent fantasies involved doing anything for Bruce Wayne in return for a one-way ticket out of the boys home. He just works his tongue up the underside of Bruce’s cock, licking at the heat of it, spit gathering at the corners of his mouth, forcing him to swallow. He tastes the slick of pre-come dribbling on his tongue, breathes in the scent of Bruce’s skin. Pulling off almost all the way, John starts to work the base of Bruce’s cock in a twisting hand again, a wetter, easier glide. Bruce groans as John’s fingers ring him more tightly, squeezing the fat length of his cock, and there’s a sharp, desperate edge to the sound.

For the first time, Bruce’s fingers cup the back of John’s head, holding him there, showing him a slower, deeper rhythm. He pulls halfway out and then slides back into John’s mouth, using gentle force, showing John that this isn’t an order he has to follow. But he wants to. He takes Bruce in as deep as he can and then a little deeper, making himself gag and pant. He’s never quite gotten the hang of deep-throating, but he’s willing to practice all over Bruce’s cock.

“Relax,” says Bruce, his voice low and liquid. He strokes along the hinge of John’s jaw, touching the tight muscle there. “Just don’t tense up here, and you’ll be fine.”

John is so hard he’s aching, and there’s something so deliciously unexpected about Bruce coaxing him into it, stroking down the side of John’s throat as John swallows. He tries to relax, to focus on the sensation of Bruce so deep in him and not on the growing ache in his jaw. He spreads his hands against Bruce’s hard thighs, fingers grasping as he gives the most desperate blowjob of his life.

By the time Bruce tugs at John’s hair and comes down his throat, John thinks his dick might actually explode. He holds Bruce’s dick on his tongue until it starts to go soft, licking up every last drop of come. And Bruce takes it, doesn’t pull him off as John nuzzles in close to his groin, mouthing at every messy inch of his skin. He’s not even sure how Bruce can still be standing, stroking John’s short hair and breathing shallowly under John’s hands and mouth.

John stays on his knees after he finally pulls off, head resting heavily on Bruce’s stomach, his lips numb and bearing the shallow marks of his teeth. Bruce’s hand lingers against the top of his head, fingers gentle. “If you did that in a fight,” Bruce says, “it would definitely catch the crooks by surprise.”

John laughs. He unfolds his body slowly, gets to his feet as Bruce tucks himself back into his pants. He feels shy, young, brought forcefully back to the little boy meeting the billionaire twenty years ago. Bruce smiles at him, and then he’s pinning John against the wall again, kissing him slow and deep. “Will that get me better marks on the next pop quiz though?” John murmurs.

“I don’t think so.” He cups a hand over John’s still-hard dick and squeezes, making John gasp and shiver like a kid. “But if you can work out any tactical advantage here while you show me your bedroom, I’ll be very impressed.”


End file.
